Spice and Fox
by WaddleBuff
Summary: A solitary fox gets what she has always wanted. But when she meets a lone merchant, will she give him what he has always needed? (This story will be under renovation. No storylines or characters will be changed; only writing style)
1. The Fox

Silently and stealthily, they ran. White ghosts in a vertical sea of greens and whites. The leaves that they trod upon beneath their feet are barely scathed as they dash through the forest. Golden eyes burning with determination, muscles driving them onward towards their prey. Following scents and footsteps that are barely seen on the ground, they traverse Ionia's forests. Then, they slow and stop. Their feet noiselessly moving closer and closer to their prize. The body they create disperses, as each one of them positions themselves around the target. In the clearing, the golden eyes focus on what they have been searching for.

A toppled wagon lies on the snow covered ground, and three brown huddled figures sit close together by a withering fire. A man, a woman, a child. Their faces show no sign of hope, no sign of life. Skin as pale as the snow they sit upon, they wait for death's cold embrace. With no food, no water, no transportation, survival is hopeless.

The winters of Ionia are harsh. Bare skin is instantly pierced by the intense frost. Only the barren icy lands of Freljord match its potency. Everything in the landscape is affected. All animals feel the price. And the foxes that hunt in the woods, they are the ones who feel it most. Usual prey is hibernating, warm in their caves, forcing these cunning hunters to search for any meat they can find. If they could hibernate, snuggle together warmly, sleeping through the harsh coldness of the outside world, they would have. But this is the fox's curse. They can't.

Unfortunately for the starving travelers, they have no knowledge of Ionia's winters, or the white, hungry predators that are targeting them. Closer and closer the foxes creep. The leader of the group, one with a scar down his right eye, nods once. In unison, the creatures spring from their hiding places upon the poor family. The humans have no time to react, and even if they did, they wouldn't have survived anyway.

In the blink of an eye, the family is nothing but lifeless corpses lying on the ground. Warm, fresh food. The foxes take the bodies and drag them into the forest. There would be no eating out in the open. You can never know what lurks with you in these forests. Working together, the foxes finally arrive at the mouth of a small cave. Releasing the meal from their mouths, they gather around, allowing their snouts to take in the delicious smells that come with fresh meat. The leader steps forward, and begins to speak.

"Brothers. Once again, you have proved yourselves worthy of food in this harsh time. Let us feast upon this flesh and nourish ourselves from the physical strain that we have been enduring."

All at once, the foxes grab the bedraggled clothing of the dead travelers, baring their pale skin. It was time to feast.

They eat heartily, not wasting a morsel. In the middle of the meal comes the sound of light footsteps, an approaching fox. Nobody reacts or moves. They roll their eyes. They know who it is. It's the leech.

She was an abnormality. No other fox that dwells within this forest home was like her. Her fur was white and silky, unlike all the others, who had course, grayish-white fur. Her eyes burned a more golden-gold. Her ears were black, differing from the white that covered her body. Probably the strangest trait of hers were her nine, soft and fluffy tails. Two, three, maybe even five tails was a normal occurrence, but there was never nine. And nine extremely fine tails at that. Nobody else had tails as beautiful as hers. Especially nine of them.

Yes, a strange fox was she. But it wasn't her fine fur, or her nine tails that made her stand out. It was her mind. She thought differently, felt differently. This trait separated her from everybody else. The other foxes, even her own parents. She was the most beautiful fox in Ionia, but never has she had a mate.

Of course, a reason of her being a pariah were her strange outlooks and thoughts, but surely her arrogant and spoiled attitude towards everything must have added to that. But of course, her attitude was rather fitting, considering she was the daughter of the pack's leader.

But there was something else that only she possesses. Something nobody else knows about, and if they did, they would surely excommunicate her with more potency. She had always wanted to be human.

She didn't exactly know why, but ever since the first time the pack had killed a lone woman walking through the woods, she had been interested in these creatures. Long lithe limbs, flowing hair sprouting from their heads, soft skin. So many beautiful things that she wished to have.

After every murder of a human, or when they were passing a village, she would always stray behind and observe. Observe their mannerisms, their possessions, anything that was human. That was always why she never helped the pack hunt. She would always stay behind, spying on these interesting creatures.

Just earlier that day, she had been up in the village the family of three was headed for. She had watched her favorite activity of these beings. She had watched two of them mate. She always found it interesting, beautiful. Two bodies melting into each other, sharing love and desire. That day, she was in the middle of watching when she heard her pack executing the hunt. Knowing this meant it was time to eat, she walked away from the observations, and let her snout lead her to her pack.

Rounding the corner to the mouth of the cave, she arrives. Nine tails whisking back and forth, a smug grin worn on her face.

Her father looks up and ceases his feasting. The fierce battle-born leader changes in an instant. A grin spreads across his blood stained mouth as he walks over to his daughter.

"Ahri! You finally made it. Well as you can see we have all just begun to eat. Care to join us?"

His tone is overly happy and cheerful. Almost as if he is intoxicated.

"No thanks father. Just please save the livers."

She winks.

"You know they're my favorite."

Her father beams.

"Of course honey!"

He makes his way over and tells everyone his daughter's request. They all silently comply, obviously annoyed.

Now, the pack leader knows everybody's attitude against his daughter. He just simply ignores it. He loves his daughter with all of his heart. She is his pride and joy. His only memory of his deceased wife.

With the pack still busy eating (and deliberately ignoring her), Ahri makes her way through the forest, back to the toppled wagon. The wagon had been traveling on a back road leading to a small town, but the snow and ice overcame the strong vehicle, causing it to fall over on its side. The horse was loosed and its footprints are indented into the snow. There was no chasing it. It would be in the town by nightfall.

Cautiously Ahri treads slowly towards the wagon. Red stains the snow, a result of the ambush earlier. She approaches the wooden vehicle and sniffs with her snout. Her curious eyes widen as she follows unknown scents into the canvas-covered carriage. Slipping inside, she sees various articles of clothing scattered everywhere. Empty glass jars, jewelry, books and all sorts of possessions lay all over the place. The family was apparently moving, most likely away from the violent war between the Ionians and the Noxians that was ravaging the countryside.

She walks silently among the fallen objects and steps on something. Looking down at her paw she sees it is a brown stuffed bear. She stares at it for a while, bends down and sniffs it. Then her ears twitch as she hears her father calling her. Giving the bear one last sniff, she then turns and struts away, her head full of visions of humans and stuffed animals.


	2. The Merchant

The wheels of the wagon plowed through the icy snow as Laurence led his wagon full of goods through the placid winter countryside. The night before had encountered a fierce blizzard, forcing him to stop and stay at a town on his route. Over the night the soft snow had frozen over, creating a thick layer of rock-solid water.

Craft Laurence had been trading for more than seven years. He left his hometown when he was eighteen to chase his lifelong dream of opening up his very own shop. And he was still pursuing this dream as he led his wagon full of goods through the blistering cold.

He was headed towards the town of Surelya to trade his cargo of fur, utensils and his large shipment of pepper. Ever since the war had begun, the towns of the countryside had been experiencing shortages of everything from lumber to steel nails. Every town had its own special needs, and Laurence took this to his advantage. He was a merchant after all.

His silver eyes are slits now as he squints throw the soft snowfall. His hands gripping the reigns of his wagon, he concentrates on the icy road in front of him. Snowflakes make contact and melt into his brown turtleneck jacket, his white hair wavering softly in the gentle breeze created by the movement of the wagon. The rough road beneath crunches as the wheels turn slowly and steadily towards their destination.

Laurence sighs. He liked this job, to travel alone, to trade and barter. But the job of a travelling merchant was definitely lonely at times, no matter how many friends he had gained over the years.

"Long day eh?"

He says to his horse.

In response, the beast merely trots onward.

Scratching his stubbly chin, he yawns. He had left the town that morning with some newly acquired goods, and it was now nearing sunset. In the endless expanse of white, a black dot suddenly appears in front of his vision. As it grows closer and closer, the blob takes form and becomes Surelya, his destination.

As the wagon approaches the town, Laurence slows as he nears the Ionian soldiers that stand guard at the entrance of the small settlement. Every town had a small battalion of soldiers now ever since the Noxian invasion. The towns on the other side of the mountain range had already been ravaged, casualties of the war. The refugees had fled to the towns here. With them came vigil guards, careful not to let the towns fall to the same fate as the other towns did.

Many of the towns that had been ravaged were actually taken over from the inside. Noxians disguised as travelling peddlers would smuggle weaponry and reinforcements under the radar of the then weak security systems. When the time was right, the invaders would spring into action, claiming yet another front for Noxus. Sometimes the towns wouldn't have any survivors.

The guards begin to walk towards the stopped wagon to inspect its goods. Their leader steps forward.

"Good evening traveler. Rough journey I assume?"

Laurence chuckles.

"Yes. Very."

The guard smiles and waves his hand over the canvas-covered cargo.

"Now if you don't mind we'll just proceed with the inspection."

"Of course."

Immediately the guards untie the ropes holding down the canvas concealing the goods, then take the sheet off, revealing the wagon's cargo. Neat folded piles of furs lie neatly inside tie wagon next to a few boxes full of eating utensils and crates containing pounds of pepper. In a moment's notice the men begin to rifle through the materials and opening the boxes to search their insides.

The captain of the outpost walks over to the back of the wagon, joining his men as they continue to search vigorously for weapons and dangerous items that aren't there. Reaching into an open canvas-laced box full of pepper, he dips his hand into it and allows the small black beads to sift through his fingers. Hand still sifting through the black spice, he looks up and asks Laurence a question.

"Why pepper?"

Broken from his daydreaming by the sudden question, Laurence turns his head and smiles, answering the guard's question with another question.

"Do you like meat?"

The guard, has to hesitate for a few seconds before answering. He had expected a direct answer.

"Huh? Meat? Oh…of course! It's a necessity."

"And what time of the year do you usually consume the meat you have preserved from the summer?"

Waving his hand at the frozen scenery around him, the guard answers,

"Wintertime of course!"

"And what do you use to add flavor to your salt-preserved meat that you have saved for this cold season?"

Realization finally hits the somewhat dense guard. His hand stops playing around in the box.

"Ah…but why so much of it?"

"Well, pepper is always in high demand in winter, and I've bought it at a somewhat cheap price in the summer. It's light and easy to carry, and it turns out a fairly good profit when I sell it during winter."

"I see…so it's about profit. Of course, you are a travelling merchant after all."

He begins to play around with the pepper again, and then suddenly, a huge grin spreads across his face. Then a stifled snicker. Then his visible breath starts to burst from his mouth as he throws his head back and laughs out loud. Bewildered as to what could cause this man to be so amused, Laurence asks,

"What's so funny?"

Calming down a bit, the guard answers,

"Oh well talking about spices and you being a merchant and all, it just reminded me of an old fable I read last week."

"Oh?"

"Yes well, in the fable, a travelling merchant much like you encounters some creatures from the Void. These monstrosities speak to him and say,

'Give us the most delicious-tasting human in the world, and we will not eat you.'

The merchant, fearing for his life, begins to search desperately for the tastiest-looking person he can find."

With the examination over and done with, the guards who were inspecting the wagon stood near their guard now, eyes twinkling with curiosity. Their captain was obviously an avid storyteller.

"One by one, the merchant presents all sorts of people from his town. Fat, well-fed women, fit, proportioned men, small little girls, he showed them all to the horrid creatures from the Void. But with every potential meal, they simply shook their heads, red eyes glowing with disapproval.

"Then one day, the merchant happens upon a young boy with gleaming blue eyes and shiny golden hair. He smelled as sweet as honey, his skin was as smooth as silk. The merchant knowing he had finally found the perfect food for the monsters that threatened his life, he grabbed the boy and quickly presented him to the Void creatures.

"Excitedly he exclaimed,

'Look! Look! This is surely the most scrumptious human that dwells upon this earth! Smell him, touch him, eat him!'

He folds his arms in pride, for the red glow of disapproval of the monsters' eyes was gone. Suddenly, the boy speaks.

'No, no you've got it all wrong! Are you creatures blind? This man has been offering many people to you, but have you not noticed that your meal has been standing before you this whole time? Look at him. Well-rounded and fat, his flesh is well-seasoned by the spice that he trades!'

The creatures smile a sinister grin, and leave the boy be. The merchant is soon hungrily devoured, and indeed, he was the tastiest human the monster had ever tasted."

Finally finished with his story, everyone who had been listening has mixed expressions of shock, horror and amusement. The guard stands there, arms folded, proud of his storytelling skills.

"So you see, I laughed because I just imagined you being devoured by Void creatures is all."

Once again he laughs heartily, and his men join him. Laurence joins in awkwardly, his hand scratching that ever-itchy spot on the back of his head.

Conversing for a few more minutes, the guards then cover the wagon with its tarp and secure it with its ropes.

The soldiers file back behind their regiment leader, who gives Laurence a warm smile and a friendly handshake.

"Well, it doesn't seem like you're any Noxian. I hope you have a good stay here in Surelya merchant."

"Thank you."

And with that, Laurence directs his wagon into the town. From behind him, he hears the guard yell,

"And be sure to avoid those Void creatures you hear?"

The man and his men then laugh loudly, their hysterical voices fading as Laurence drives his wagon deeper into the town. He smiles and shakes his head.

"I'll be sure of it."

* * *

><p>As always, Laurence's first order of business (So to speak) in a town was to find a trading guild. Trading guilds are settlements within towns that house travelling peddlers and merchants, where they can check in and trade off new strategies to friends of the same business. It is also the ideal location for experience merchants to trade off goods with each other. The most profit is found bartering in trading guilds, rather than running around markets all day looking for good opportunities.<p>

Cobblestone streets of the town are covered in snow as Laurence navigates his way inside. Not many people are out and about, but those are give him friendly smile of welcome. Snowfall had stopped, leaving behind an icy veil that hung placidly in the still air. Laurence had been here before many times, as he had to many towns in Ionia. So in no time he was in front of the trading guild, and in just a short matter of time he is sleeping in a bed, his horse and carriage full of goods safely stored in a stable. He lays for a short while, his arms above his head. Trading could wait until tomorrow.

Soon his eyes close, and his dreams are filled with images of merchants and creatures from the Void.


	3. Calm Before the Storm

In the dead of night, under the cover of darkness, black figures move through the snow-filled bamboo forests. Along with them move wagons of weapons, firearms, tomes, potions and a variety of other warfare instruments. The foxes and other hunters of the forest harrumph at the pathetic attempt these humans are making at being stealthy, but fortunately for the humans, their enemies would never know they were coming. Their eyes are set on a sea of floating lights in the distance. Another town, another front, another property that would be claimed for Noxus.

It had taken them weeks to traverse across Ionia's mountains, but it was worth it. The people of this land didn't have a chance. They surely couldn't have suspected anything. This invasion would be flawless. After this town, the invaders would claim the next, then the next, until all of the countryside was theirs. In the eyes of these soldiers and their commanders, this war was a guaranteed victory. But of course, the only guarantee in war is death.

* * *

><p>In between the town and the forest the invaders were advancing through, there lay a clearing. White snow covers it, creating a mirror that reflects the light that shines down from the moon. They would have no choice but to cross it, but of course, they didn't expect anyone to be waiting. Unfortunately for them, somebody was.<p>

* * *

><p>The Ionian general looked into a glowing orb in his hands at the forthcoming battle. Multiple Vision Wards had been placed in the forest in case of an invasion, and here it was, coming in full force. He sighed a great sigh. Other generals and commanders stood in the tent, awaiting orders. They had expected something like this to happen, but nothing of this magnitude. Sure, a few scouts and a minuscule number of troops, but not a full-scale invasion. They had been too careless.<p>

"Evacuate the town immediately. We will not lose any lives that are not fighting in this war."

Men quickly rush out of the tent, and mount on horses, riding away into the night.

The general cradled his head in his hands. After a few minutes he finally stood, and gave his subordinates the orders they were waiting for.

"Prepare the troops. The invaders will reach us by morning. We will not allow them to take another settlement."

In a flurry, all the men empty the small space, leaving only the general sitting down, constantly peering through the orb at the battle that was to ensue.

* * *

><p>In the nearby town of Surelya, Laurence slept on, unaware of the impending danger.<p> 


	4. The Necromancer

His name was Bronte Eucliwood. A soldier in the ranks of the Noxian army, he was well-respected. And to anyone that wasn't on his side, he was well-feared. And they had a right to. For Bronte was not just any soldier. He was a mage. Furthermore, he wasn't any mage. He was born into a family of one of the rarest breeds of magic-users. For you see, he was a necromancer.

Definitely one of the most valuable assets to Noxus, necromancers were highly revered. These mages, exclusive to the infamous city-state, had the power to reanimate the dead, heal any seemingly mortal wound and suck life essences out of other human beings. Yes, they were definitely one of the most feared enemies on a battlefield. Some who were battling against them merely stood there, mouths agape as they watched the necromancers perform their work; throwing out light-emanating orbs that sucked the life out of their enemies, muttering constant streams of incantations, and raising corpses of their allies to battle once more. But of course, such power would have to be paid with a great price.

Unfortunately for them, necromancers can only interbreed, for having a child with an outsider would mean their powers wouldn't pass to the next generation, which caused them to have a very low birthrate. Adding to the fact that they were the most targeted foes on a battlefield, very few of them existed on Runeterra. This biological setback was also the reason for the population's decrepit health. They were well-known for their pale, sensitive skin, and inability to walk among the ranks of soldiers, instead riding dark, single-passenger carriages.

Some necromancers believed their existence to be torture. Their purpose was to kill and to restore, an endless cycle that would continue until they died. Their life was decided from birth; a matter of family honor and duty. No necromancer strayed from this path. There was also the fact that their essence orbs, essentially a necromancer's "weapon" and physical incarnation of their soul, would store the souls of the men and women that had met Death's grasp by their hands. Looking into their orbs for too long would result in the cradling of heads, weeping of tears; the cries from the souls within were too much. Some could not handle this and would end their lives by their own hands. That creates yet another reason for such a low population of necromancers.

But I digress.

Bronte sat within the wheeled wagon, hood shrouding his face, which was illuminated a ghostly blue from the essence orb that he fiddled with in his hands. With a few taps of his fingers, he replayed memories from long ago, joyful images kept forever within that glowing sphere. It had become routine for him to do this before a battle. But as he gazed inside, a smile almost emerging on his face, the ghoulish face of a dead Demacian occupied the sphere. Bronte's countenance changed instantly, reverting back to its usual depression-fueled grimace. One after another, the faces of slain men and women killed in the name of Noxus screamed at him from within his essence orb. He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing the guilt away, trying to enclose himself from it all.

That was when the carriage stopped, and the door opened. His eyes squint as white light from the outside world forced itself inside the dark space he sat in. In an instant, the souls within his glowing orb vanish with a spectral scream. His eyes take time to adjust; the only thing he sees is white light.

From within the brightness, a voice reaches out to him.

"Necromancer Eucliwood, we have arrived. Your services are now required."

_As if I do not already know that you dunce. _

His vision finally adjusts to the bright exposure of the sunlight reflecting on the snow outside. Taking a tentative step onto the cold ground that lay beneath the lower-ranking soldier that stood outside his carriage, Bronte's face is met with the bitter cold air of winter. Along with the wind that blew upon his skin, the smell of death went along with it. The mage puckered his nose, but he was used to this smell. He had to be. It was his job.

* * *

><p>The battlefield that Bronte was to fight on had been raging for with clashing Noxians and Ionians for two days already. Taken by complete surprise by the waiting Ionians, the Noxians had to hastily formulate makeshift formations and temporary battalions.<p>

With the element of surprise on their side, the Ionians quickly dwindled the numbers of the invaders to their own. The Noxian front of the other side of the mountain range quickly heard word of this and sent reinforcements. Along with this new wave of troops, Bronte was sent, one of the only seven necromancers available for use on the battlefield. This, along with the fact that the reinforcements included the latest Zaunite bio-weaponry meant that Noxus meant business. With the necromancer and these newly acquired weapons, this simple invasion was quickly turning into a full-scale warfront. But only, if the Ionians let it.


	5. The Storm

_2 Days Prior_

Laurence awoke to a loud banging coming from the wooden door to his room. Blinking away his drowsiness, he slowly got up and walked over to the incessant knocking that resounded throughout the room. With a twinge of annoyance, his hand turned the knob, opening the door and letting in the source of the loud noise.

Bursting into the room was Lorenzo, the trading guild's owner. Laurence had to step aside to avoid being crashed into. His sleepiness was instantly expunged once he saw the state Lorenzo was in; the balding middle-aged mustachioed man was panting, his face red and eyes wide open with what seemed to be panic. In his burly hands he held a bag, packed to the brim. Laurence bemused about why he was so flustered, stumbled upon his words trying to ask why what was going on.

"L-Lorenzo, wha..what's going on?"

Having finally caught his breath, Lorenzo stood up, grabbing Laurence by the shoulders with a strong grip, his eyes wild.

"Laurence! Get all of your stuff. We're leaving now!"

Still stunned as to what prompted this behavior in the middle of the night, Laurence gives him a bewildered look. But noting the seriousness in the man's eyes, he nods and quickly gathers all of his belongings. During this frantic collection of his posessions, he questions Lorenzo about what exactly was going on.

"Just hurry up Laurence! The whole guild's already gone. How you slept through the ruckus outside is beyond me."

"Wait, ruckus outside? You're still not being very clear to me."

But now that he was fully awake, Laurence heard the clamor outside. Sounds of shuffling feet, clopping of hooves and the buzz of panicking human activity pierced through the walls.

"Gods do I have to write it out on paper for you? What else would make the whole town head for the hills? The invaders are doing what they do best; they're coming to take this town."

Finally realizing the urgency of the situation, Laurence hurriedly stuffs everything he owns into his pack. Finished, Lorenzo leads him down the stairs, running and almost tripping in the darkness of the guild. Outside, the air vibrated with the chaos that seeped from the main cobblestone street. Walking past the stable where the horses were tied and the wagons and goods were stored, Laurence stops.

"What about my goods?"

"We don't have time, we don't have time! Come on!"

And with that, Lorenzo pulls Laurence into the surging ocean of human traffic, getting pushed out of town into safety.

* * *

><p>As newborn snowflakes float down through the sky and find new homes in green bamboo trees, the white pack treads noiselessly; their wet noses leading them back to their home, Ahri casually strutting behind them, taking in the scenery.<p>

Nearing their home, the pack nears the edge of the forest. Save for Ahri.

That is when the packs' leader's ears began to twitch. Raising a paw, he stops his group. Being the leader, Ahri's father had much keener senses than the others. He didn't lead just because of his authoritative psyche.

He sniffs the air as his ears began to twitch with an increased urgency. His nose leads him across the ground, onto the green skin of the trees, then finally has him facing towards the depths of the woods. His face grows grim as he now knew of the impending danger. Turning back towards his pack, he gives them one word, one order, with a grave tone in his voice.

"Run."

* * *

><p>Ahri sashayed through the snowy forest, without a care in the world. Her strong senses following her pack, she lets curiosity take hold of her as she stops every few moments to observe interesting little tidbits that caught her eye. Then her ears began to twitch.<p>

Intrigued, she allowed her senses to control her, her nose sniffing the air to find the source of this disturbance. Immediately after her ears ceased twitching, she sensed her pack's speed to rapidly increase. Cocking her head to the side, she began to walk just a little faster, just barely trying to close the gap between her and her group.

"That's strange…"

* * *

><p>Why hadn't he sensed them earlier? As he led his pack through the woods, running as fast as his legs would allow, he was bewildered as to why his senses hadn't gained knowledge of the human invaders sooner. It seemed as if those humans were getting stealthier by the day.<p>

Finally, the group slowed to a stop as they arrived at the mouth of a cave. One by one, the foxes file inside as their leader takes a silent roll call. As the last fox strutted inside, he gives off a sigh of relief. At least for now they would be safe from danger. He too began to walk inside when he stops in his tracks, golden eyes shown in their entirety from shock. Breathlessly he asks,

"Where's Ahri?"

Every fox turns to look at each other, then look back to the chief, replying with blank looks on their faces.

"No…no…"

Before anyone could react, he was already bolting through the snowy forest, a white blur searching for its daughter.

* * *

><p>As the urgency of the situation began to intensify, Ahri truly began to worry. Quickening her pace from a brisk walk to a fast run, she desperately tries to find her way back to her pack. But as strong as her inherited senses were, they still had a limit.<p>

Slowing to a stop, Ahri sniffed around, frantic. Her pack had been too fast. No. She had been too slow. Too stupid. She had neglected the dangers that existed. Now they had left her behind, alone, lost. But still knowing there was hope, Ahri resumed her run, nose still searching for any sign of her family.

* * *

><p>If he was able to, he would have cried. Running faster than he had ever run before, Ahri's father desperately searched for her.<p>

_No…please. I don't want to lose you like I lost your mother. Please. Please let me find you._

This was his entire fault. He was careless, letting his eyes off of her for only a minute, allowing her to get lost. These were the only things running through his head as he ran through the snow, golden eyes completely frantic.

* * *

><p>As Ahri continued dashing through the forest, she suddenly felt something. A sixth sense, a thin almost nonexistent thread that wavered in the icy air. With nothing else to follow, she immediately ran along it, her mind hanging onto the thread with all its strength.<p>

Soon, her father found this invisible thread, and subsequently began to also follow it, still keeping his running speed.

The two continued to follow this connection blindly, letting it control their bodies to find each other. All other senses were dulled, dormant, as this sixth sense took ahold of them.

If they had been listening to their surroundings, they would have heard the silent marching of feet, heading towards the clearing. They would have heard the opposing forces, crouching inside bushes, using white camouflage to turn invisible in the snow. They would have heard the wheels supporting mortars and cannons as they were rolled to the edge of the forest, ready to greet its enemies that would come running out the other side. But they didn't.

Finally, Ahri's feet no longer crunches upon icy leaves adorned with frozen snow as she exits the claustrophobic forest. A smile appears on her face. She had made it. Feet pounding away on the cold hard ground, she dashes forward, nine tails flaying about in the wind.

Her father bursts from the other side of the clearing, wild eyes melting into golden pools of relief as they catch sight of his daughter. Ahri sees him, and all of her anxiety dissipates as the two of them run towards each other in the white snow.

"Father!"

"Ahri!"

Their loud outbursts echo around the surrounding clearing as the two come closer and closer. All sadness, guilt and fear was completely done away with. Only joy and relief could be felt. The two slow to a stop, panting visible puffs of air. Ahri buries herself into her father's chest, safe at last. His longing paws take ahold of her, bringing her in deeply.

"It's okay dear. I'll never let you go again. You're safe now…you're safe…"

Lost in their love, the pair didn't notice their ears vibrating uncontrollably, signaling danger, signaling death.

That was when the world around them vibrated and shook, as explosions churned up the serene scene of snow and peace.

* * *

><p><em>Yay I'm back! Haha, I bet none of you guys noticed I was absent for a week, but that's k. I actually wrote this in the Great Basin in a crappy notebook attached to a clipboard. :3 Me and my friends had to travel about 200 miles a day, so of course I got a little bored during the car rides. Anyway, next chapter is going to be long, and you'll all get what you've been waiting for (Not a lemon.)!<em>


	6. Unwanted Beginning

_As mentioned in the description, I will soon be rewriting all of the previous chapters. No story elements or plotlines will be changed; only the writing style. So until then, excuse my lack of consistency._

_Excelsior._

* * *

><p>Ahri awoke, her limbs immobile, some of them most likely broken. An almost-unbearable weight pinned her against the icy earth, her breaths ragged in their effort to fill her lungs. Those breaths became more labored as she panicked, unknowing of her current whereabouts.<p>

She struggled and writhed beneath the weight that was upon her. Her vision revealed nothing; she was completely buried by whatever it was that held her down. One of her legs slowly came back to life, the others broken or too numb to do the same. She kicked, again and again, attempting to squeeze her way out of her prison. It didn't take long to discover that whatever was on top of her had fur; thick, white fur.

After continuing her struggle, Ahri finally accessed the outside world, her eyes blinking to the bright sudden sunlight. Although the rest of her body was still entrapped, she was satisfied with having her head out in the snow. She took deep breaths of the cold winter air, watching her exhales condensate into visible steam, joining the plumes of smoke that surrounded her.

Smoke?

Ahri blinked, nose twitching. The strong scent of charred wood and scorched earth was prominent, its presence saturating the air. Her eyes widened as she remembered. She remembered running towards her father in the field, that empty, innocent field laden in a layer of snow. She remembered suddenly being thrown off of her running paws by an invisible force, before landing in a snow bank several feet away. She remembered her father, running towards her, his yells unheard as a ringing occupied her ears. Then, she remembered the cold, the pain, then the murky indigo of unconsciousness.

As the memories rushed back to her, her ears twitched. Why was everything so silent?

Then her eyes finally reasserted their natural aptitude, allowing her to survey the scene around her.

What had been a serene plain bathed in moonlight was now the horrific remains of a bloodbath, every detail saturated by an afternoon sun.

Bodies lay on the ground, limbs contorted in disgusting proportions. Wheeled wagons and remains of artillery stood abandoned or dismantled, much of these remains still alit with small flickers of fire. The snow had been scraped away from the battle that had occurred, the whiteness now brown and scarlet, mixed with disrupted soil and blood. Craters were as abundant as the bodies, their gaping faces open wounds.

Ahri took it all in with horror. She had heard of the battles, the fights between humans. But never had she expected it to look this…gruesome.

However, these emotions were swept away by the looming sense of panic as she realized the absence of her father. As if a sick sort of deity was present to answer her concern, her father's head plopped down onto the ground beside hers, his eyes agape, glazed over after making contact with Death's visage.

Ahri looked at his face in disbelief, but after seeing the head still connected to the body that was draped over hers, all she could do was scream, her lungs releasing the sense of anguish as a loud succession of barks.

* * *

><p>The primal echo of a fox echoed across the abandoned battlefield.<p>

Noxus had lost in its offense.

No one was spared. Every man and woman who had dared to attempt and seize Surelya lay lifeless, baking underneath the afternoon sun.

One body gasped, its life violently forced back into its throat.

Bronte Eucliwood panted, his eyes bloodshot, his skin pale and devoid of life. He looked around, his fingers clutching the katana impaling his chest. His heart beat in an irregular rhythm, the blood pumping through his veins only possible by magic. His essence orb lay beside him, feeding wisps of arcane energy into his soul.

He looked around at the toppled wagons, the dead bodies. The head of his commander was impaled on a pole, its dead eyes sternly looking forward in defeat.

That was right…they had lost.

The realization brought his attention back to his open wounds, the newly produced blood from his heart spurting out onto the snow from his severed legs, the scarlet also seeping out of the wound in his chest. Warmth enveloped him for a moment, his body readjusting itself to the life that it had lost.

Then, pain.

Bronte screamed, white searing fire shooting through his nervous system. His vision blurred as tears cascaded from his eyes. His heart beat faster, near its limit. In only a few more minutes, his second life would end, his pulse stopped permanently.

_I don't have much time._

He thought, eyes frantically blinking away the tears obscuring vision, his head jerking from side to side, searching; he needed to find a host.

Necromancers, when faced in times of crisis, have one last resort: they are capable of transferring their soul into their essence orbs, joining the tormented souls that also reside within it. But in order for this to be possible, a living, breathing host is required, their soul intact.

That was the problem that Bronte now faced; here was nothing living in sight.

Then he saw it. Out of the corner of his vision, something stirred. Something white.

He craned his neck as far as he could, desperate to catch sight of what it was.

He yelled again, gritting his teeth as the pain sent another arrow through his nerves. His breaths were becoming more jagged, more desperate. Black occupied the corners of his vision.

His sight cleared of the tears, making out the blurry shape of…a fox.

It was calling out with its fangs bared, its cries of torment unable to reach his deaf ears. On top of its body, a fox lay lifeless, its body shielding the fox below it.

The sight would have been touching, but of course the necromancer couldn't care less during his current predicament; he only saw the nine-tailed fox pinned under her father as a viable host-the _only_ viable host-that could save his life. Still, no necromancer in history had ever forged with a non-human host. The repercussions could be disastrous.

A sudden pang of agony struck Bronte once more. It was then that the concern left Bronte's body. This was the only way.

With that, Bronte sucked in his pain, his lips beginning to utter an incantation.

* * *

><p>Ahri continued, barking, thrashing. She couldn't escape the weight on her back, and she couldn't bear the fact that the body on her back was her father's.<p>

It was at this moment that she craved death. There was no point in living anymore. Her sharp sense could already feel the absence of her pack. They had most likely fled, an ambitious fox probably already christened as their new leader.

And here she was, abandoned, entrapped by the corpse of her own father, legs shattered.

The realization of lack of will stopped her ruckus, her eyes looking downcast against the winter ground. There wasn't any hope for her, no second chance, _nothing _left.

Maybe this was the way the gods dealt with souls that wasted their lives away. Maybe this was how it was supposed to end.

She resigned to this fate, closing her eyes as the Ionian sun warmed her eyelids. Then, the natural light from above was overcome with a sudden flash of emerald green. Before Ahri could open her eyes again, she felt her body become light, and her world swirled to black once more.

* * *

><p>"<em>Quod carnalis huius formae immolo<em>," Bronte uttered, the incantation coming forth from his lips almost a whisper. His essence orb swirled above him, wisps of life reaching out towards the fox lying across from him. Simultaneously, the necromancer could feel his very own soul being ripped apart from his body. Still, he endured the pain, keeping eye contact with the fox, watching intently as her body lifted into the air by invisible hands, her white fur shrouded in delicate arcane mists.

"_Profectum animae proximum adiuvare cepi pla-_" Bronte coughed, blood spurting between his teeth, interrupting the incantation. The essence orb suddenly slowed its swirling, its tendrils retreating from its progress on the nine-tailed fox's body. The necromancer summoned the last of his strength as the black from the edges of his vision began to accumulate at his pupils, all of his energy dedicated to finish the spell. "…_pla-plano. Existentiae, meae erunt…"_

The essence orb swirled faster than ever before, Ahri's body engulfed in a blinding arcane display. Screams and shrieks of past lives and imprisoned souls echoed across the silent field as the orb transferred everything into the unwilling fox. Finally, the last beat in his heart almost spent, Bronte finished the incantation.

"…_renovator!_"

The undulating tresses of the essence orb ceased, ebbing away in a soft, delicate chime of a whisper. Its final wisps joined the cradle of light suspending Ahri in the sky as a final nail hammered into a carpenter's work. Bronte managed to keep his eyes open, watching as the fox's body drifted to the earth, the ribbons of magic retreating from her form. As they fled, his eyelids grew more weary, the black overcoming his entire line of sight.

But in the very last second of his physical existence, Bronte saw it: the fox had successfully forged.

With that, the life from his body slipped away, leaving his corpse cold and empty, occupying the orb that now belonged to a new owner.

Ahri, in her new form, lay cold and bare on Runeterra below her, nine tails enveloping her in a warm embrace as she slept on.

Once again, the battlefield turned silent, the crackling of small flames the only resonances occupying the din of nothingness.

* * *

><p>Ahri opened her eyes.<p>

Her eyelashes fluttered as her tails opened slightly, allowing the orange light of the setting sun to warm her whiskered cheeks.

Wait, eyelashes? _Cheeks_?

It didn't take long for the fox to snap out of her second rude awakening in a day.

Ahri jumped up, only to fall to her side once she realized she had two legs.

Two _human _legs.

She stared at them, golden eyes quivering in shock.

The ice bit her palms as she pressed hard against the ground. She retracted, wincing at the harsh bite of the snow. She brought the hands to her line of vision. Ahri merely stared at them, dumbfounded as she willed the fingers to move. She looked past the hands, doing the same wriggling motion with her toes. She almost giggled.

A sudden breeze assaulted her bareness, and Ahri's tails covered her again.

She shivered, and gasped. Two reactions unfamiliar to her. Foxes never shiver, nor do they take a quick intake of air when confronted with an unfamiliar situation.

Ahri's eyes squinted, the light of the setting sun slightly hurting her new pupils.

She hissed. Or rather, she attempted to, for her new mouth only let out a pathetic clearing of the throat.

She sat, huddled in a fetal position, knees to her chin, tails wrapping her in a warm embrace.

In one day, everything had changed. The fact that she was now…this, didn't even surprise her as much as she thought it would. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the corpse of her father, lying next to the strange magician who had given her this new body.

Suddenly, her sight grew foggy, and her heart beat dimly. Ahri felt like she was being melted slowly, the nerves throughout her entire body jittering as if a wave of soft thunder caressed it with a delicate touch.

_Plop_.

A tear fell from her eyes. Followed by another and another.

Ahri looked at this sight with shock. She had seen it several times when she observed humans, but to think that it would feel this way, feel this utterly _horrible_…

The tears continued to cascade and fall, and so did that terrible emotion that racked her entire body. Ahri sobbed, gasping, hearing her new voice for the first time in the form of desperate wails, screams and yells.

She buried her face in her knees, feeling the new skin against her new, sensitive nose. She felt the skin grow wetter and stickier as she sobbed, unable to control this new, alien action.

A few hours ago, her barks and whines had echoed across the silent field.

And now, in her new form, she learned how to cry, her sobs not unlike those barks and whines.

The corpses listened while the sun set, engulfing Ionia in darkness.

The fox continued to cry.


End file.
